The Democratic advocate., 1887-02-05

come here across the frontier. Sucl
affairs are not uncommon hereabout, bu
they rarely terminate fatally, The othe
fellow has made off. This one, by the bye
is countryman Of yours. Stay, have
his name somewhere"
He fumbled in his pocket for notebook
and abstracting a card, handed it to me
across the table, | read the name; let
the card drop.
Good God!'' said. "Ambrose Malet.
'sDo you know him?" said the doctor.
"I know the name-it may be another
man" 1 answered, in profound agitation.
"is he young-a big, loose-limbed man, with
marked features, large nose, dull brown
hair lying straight across his forehead, and
the kindest, the most genial smile imagin-
able?"
"Your description answers in every par
ticular," said the doctor, ''except, indeed,
as regards the smile, which have not
seen. He looks sad enough, poor fellow.
He is young, about your own age, | should
4 Think He looked at me with momen-
tary humorous CLEAN that seemed to say
''In all other respects as unlike you as pos
sible He has gray eyes and wears no
beard; on his little finger is green
signet ring. If you are friend OF his L
shall be glad 1 asked him to-day if l
should send to any one, and he replied
that he had no relations and not friend
in the world that would come to him."
The tears rushed to my eyes; I could
not help it. I rose, and, walking to one of
the long windows, stood with my back
turned to the room, looking out on the
moonlit garden.
Three years before, at Oxford, Ambrose
Malet had been my best friend. A lonely
man, solitary soul, he had sought me
out through one of those contradictions
that sometimes provoke and cement the
frmest friendships. He was little known
personally at Oxford, yet made his mark at
once as a man of powers so unusual that
everything might be expected of him. The
expectation was founded on a misconcep-
tioR of his CHARACTER and yet perhaps not:
Who shall say since death came at six
and twenty to solve the problem after its
own fashion, A prodigious an dunfail-
ing memory, an almost incredible facility
for acquiring and assimilating knowledge,
we're combined with one of the strangest
and most original minds have ever come
5 He took, without appreciable eff
and and he es toor fEsalR R.sss;ifaSd has to offer
n n ence. Knowledge, alway e!e aaa airer' d
it knowledge that he acquired with such ne ne
seemed all that he desired He read t,
d hours, not as the bookworm reads, or Il
l. ordinary student, but with prodigious,
it devouring curiosity, an Unsuitable cravin
1t until in one direction or another he reache
d the final limit and faced the blank beyon
FL At such times, as / learned to know, !
h fe!I into dependency that lasted >som
e. times for days; then, rousing himself, |
1t would start again on some other track,
? arrive at the same result. His mind, | sa
y was one of the strangest and most origin
n l have met with; but it had no impuli
e that I ever discovered, toward origin
y creation, little even toward original r
search, He had read every poem wort
: reading in the English language, and kne
d half of them by heart; but do not kno
s that he ever wrote line of poetry. II
/ would take up some branch of science, an
/ devour every book on III he could find; bu
g that done, he made no Independent effol
e toward fresh discovery-he turned to some
J, thing else. Some spring that moves
: practical action, some link common betwee
1 man and life, was lacking in him; his sou
dwelt solitary and apart, thirsting, drink
!, ing, Unsuitable; only demanding inoessantl
l. what no man ever yet had-no, nor ca
!, have ever until the end of time.
!, He had few acquaintance at Oxford
[ and no intimate friend but myself Some
a times he would come to my rooms and 81
q silently watching me as l plodded on a
D my reading. My vocation had early bee
e fixed; and never wavered in my choice
t / had never any idea but that of euterin
t the church. Malet would sit smoking an
4 watching me in silence. "Good oil
Frank" he would presently say, with hi
| good affectionate smile, laying a hand o.
E my shoulder as he left the room. Not un
i, frequently we took long walks together
, and by degrees, though he spoke little o
, his affairs, 1 learned something of his life
: He was man of small independent fortun
! some hundreds year, l think; he hat
: no relations living but paralyzed an'
| childish old mother, with whom he spen
the whole Of his vacations, in some remot
country spot, He spoke little of himself
and sometimes our walk would begin ant
end in almost total silence. At other time
his fow of conversation was almost unceas
! ing; and I have not yet met the man VIII
can talk as Malet did when the mood wa
upon him. l would not, if could, try t,
reproduce those talks What withere,
and scentless weeds are those that woulc
fain represent the radiant flowers of las
years garden? He was sometimes gay
more often serious. He was no orthodo,
believer his uRoFthodoxy shocked me a
first; he saw 1t, and while never hiding hi